


That Word You Call Me

by thewitch0fthewilds (gossamerstarsxx)



Series: Not With Haste [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Love Confessions, Nightmares
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 02:39:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4902355
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gossamerstarsxx/pseuds/thewitch0fthewilds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time she tells him she loves him is the time he needs to hear it the most.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That Word You Call Me

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Nightmares; Brief Panic Attack; Brief Hallucination
> 
> Inquisitor is Aislin Lavellan, a dual-wielding rogue. Her background is [here](http://saiyanshewolf.tumblr.com/post/111572251253/artwork-by-the-lovely-peacockzzz-info-template). Her tag with screenshots and unposted drabbles/fics is [here](http://saiyanshewolf.tumblr.com/tagged/my+inquisitor).

When he wakes, he wakes screaming.

The panic overtakes him before he even realizes it’s there. He scrambles upright and scrapes his nails over his left shoulder, all the way down to his fingers, then scrubs the palm of his right hand over the left side of his face hard enough to bruise, feeling scratches from crystals that are nothing but stubble. He can hear himself breathing but he still feels choked, suffocated. He claws at his throat against phantom fingers and claws at his face against phantom crystals, driven by terrors both old and new. He can hear himself talking but has no idea what he’s saying; his mind is so scrambled that he can’t even hear himself _think…_

...and then she’s there, engulfing his field of vision and taking his face in her small, deadly hands.

He flinches away from her in horror. He tells her to keep away, terrified that the red lyrium will seep from him to her, but she crawls up to him anyway, grabbing his scratching, scrubbing hands in hers as she straddles his lap. The feeling of her skin on his anchors him a little, gives him a focal point, and when she speaks his eyes lock on her as if he is a ship at sea and she is the only light in the storm.

“I know you can feel it,” she says. “I know that, but I can’t see it, Cullen. Tell me where you feel it so I’ll know.”

She relinquishes his right hand when he pulls it away from her; it begin to shake almost immediately. He brushes the corner of his left eye with his thumb.

“From here,” he mumbles, then runs his palm down his cheek, his throat, his shoulder and arm before adding, “All the way down to here...”

She nods and lifts up his left hand. He flinches away again, horrified that she’d touch him when he’s like this, when he can see the red haze shimmering around him, can feel the crystals throbbing under his skin, pushing, splitting, _consuming…_

“I still don’t see it, Cullen,” she says, and her voice is quiet, more gentle than he's ever heard it. “Maybe you could look again?”

He looks down at his left hand where it rests above her heart. She’s not wearing anything but his shirt, and he can feel her steady heartbeat clearly against the center of his palm. He sees only their skin, their scars.

“Gone,” he mumbles, then shakes his head and closes his eyes, letting himself feel the solid weight of her in his lap, the warmth of her skin against his, the comforting beat of her heart.

“No,” he sighs. He wraps his arms around her waist and rests his forehead against her chest. “No, it was never there. It wasn’t real.”

He can’t decide if he’s relieved or mortified.

He feels her shrug as she begins massaging circles into the base of his neck, moving outward to his shoulders. The muscle there is like stone.

“It was real enough for you,” she replies. She says nothing else, perhaps waiting to see if he wants to talk about it.

“It was the red lyrium,” he says at length. He’s had this nightmare before. He’ll have it again. Neither thought is comforting, and he’s suddenly shaking again, holding her too tightly.

"I _asked_ for it,” he hisses, hiding his face against her chest. “I _asked_ for it, I _wanted_ it…”

"No." Aislin tilts his face up toward hers. "You're _afraid_ of wanting it. You're _afraid_ of asking for it. But you don't. And you won't."

“You can’t know that!” He’s frustrated again, and his pulse picks back up. “I should be...Cassandra was supposed to - ”

Two calloused fingertips press firmly against his lips, trapping his mouth against his teeth. “Hush,” Aislin commands, and he hushes, looking up at her like a scolded child.

She drops her hands to his shoulders, as if wanting to make certain that he’s listening to her, that he’s paying attention.

“You should _not_ be taking it,” she says, “Because you don’t _need_ it, Cullen, not any more. You’re not afraid of needing or even wanting the lyrium. You’re afraid of yourself. You’re afraid of what you see as a weakness in yourself.”

He shakes his head and opens his mouth, wanting to say something, wanting to argue with her, but before he has even formed a thought she's cradling his face in her hands; he has no choice but to look her in the eye .

“ _There is no weakness in you, Cullen,”_ she says fiercely. “Your past does not make you weak, your nightmares do not make you weak. I see…”

Her voice actually breaks and she falls silent for a moment, swallowing hard in an attempt to regain control over the timbre of her voice, and Cullen can hardly believe that this is her, that this is Aislin.

“I see how these things affect you...the state of the Templars, the Chantry using lyrium to control them, the withdrawal, all on top of what you've never told me about the Ferelden Circle, what you _have_ told me of Kirkwall. I see how all these things have hurt you, how they still hurt you,” she continues, and her voice is shaking freely now. “But they cannot break you, ' _ma vhenan_ , because you were not made to be broken."

She’s glaring at him with tears in her eyes, and he honestly can’t tell if the intensity in her voice comes from her own emotion or her irritation at being unable to control her emotions. More honestly yet he doesn’t care, because Aislin has never been like this. He’s almost afraid to speak, afraid he’ll break a spell or wake from a dream and she’ll retreat back into herself, never to show this side of herself again.

She speaks again after a moment, and it’s as if she’s opened a floodgate that she can’t close. He can see the tears streaming down her tattooed cheeks, can tell she’s no longer even trying to keep her voice steady.

“I can't change your memories, and as desperately as I wish I could I can't stop your nightmares,” she continues. She's speaking through her teeth, but the heat of her words is tempered by the tremor in her voice. "But I promise that you will never be alone with them, _vhenan_."

He can’t help it. He can’t _._ He wraps his arms around her again and pulls her close to him, needing to feel her, all of her. He buries his face against her throat as he hugs her to him, quietly reveling in the way she puts her arms around him in response, the way she curls her fingertips into the hair at the base of his neck and clings to him, shaking even as she tries to even out her breath.

"Thank you.” He manages to say that much, lifting his head to kiss her temple as he speaks. “Thank you for believing in me. Particularly when I don’t believe in myself.”

“It's what you've done for me since the day we met,” she says, pulling back just enough to look at him again...and for a long moment, look is all she does. She’s silent for so long that Cullen prepares himself for her to withdraw again, but she doesn’t.

“ _Ar lath 'ma vhenan_ \- I love you, do you know that?"

Cullen's heart skips a beat, then another. His breath hitches in his chest and for several seconds he's silent, barely able to believe what she's said despite the naked fear on her face and the tears on her cheeks, despite the way she's shivering in his arms.

Finally he gathers himself enough to respond, although he barely thinks about what he does. He acts on instinct, burying his hands in her hair and kissing her as slowly and thoroughly as he can, leaving their foreheads touching when he finally pulls away.

"I love you too," he answers softly. "So much."

A rare genuine smile lights her face, eclipsing the anxiety of moments before, and Cullen knows he’ll remember that smile for the rest of his days. She’s so beautiful, unguarded and relaxed in his arms like she never is anywhere else, and when she kisses his forehead his heart feels so light that he hardly remembers the nightmare that woke him.

"Do you want to lay back down, _vhenan_?" she asks, threading her fingers through his messy hair. "Do you think you can rest now?"

"With you here, yes," he answers, unabashed. He tucks her close and pulls her back down into the bed; she follows willingly, letting him curl his big body around her tiny frame until they're nestled together like spoons.

"I do have one question," he mumbles, lips lingering against the back of her neck.

"Mm...what's that?" she asks, and Cullen can hear the drowsiness in her voice.

"That word you call me...ven...veyn...veynan?"

" _'Ma vhenan_?" she asks, and it’s evident from her voice that she’s amused by his painfully accented Elvhen.

"That, yes," he says, and when she nudges his arm he lifts it so that she can roll over to face him.

She tangles her legs with his as she turns, then settles the palms of her dark hands against his chest and looks up at him.

"The simple answer is 'my heart,'" she replies, "But a more accurate translation?"

She brings one hand up to touch his face, the tiniest smile on her lips.

"You are my heart," she says, "And wherever you go, there is my home."

His chest floods with warmth that rises quickly to his cheeks, and Cullen turns his head to kiss her palm.

"That's...very beautiful," he says, laughing softly. "I almost don't know what to say, except thank you. Your language makes mine seem dull by comparison, love, but I...I feel the same way."

"I like being called 'love,'" she mumbles, snuggling closer against his chest. "I like the way it sounds in your mouth. Just don't..."

She pauses, yawns.

"Don't start calling me 'pup,' okay?" she teases. "I know how you Fereldans are about your dogs..."

"Oh, hush," Cullen rolls his eyes, tugging the blankets up over her bare shoulders. "That's for children, anyway."

"Mmmm." She yawns again. "Good."

Cullen kisses the top of her head. "Goodnight, love."

"G’night, _vhenan_ ," Aislin mutters.

Her words are sleep-slurred, but Cullen smiles down into the dark waves of her hair as she speaks, loving the sound of that word, of her voice: _vhenan_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I know that this isn't how the first "I love you," went in-game, but eh. Canon schmanon.


End file.
